


Three Times Olivia Stopped Stalling

by gilligankane



Category: Guiding Light
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-14
Updated: 2009-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the "go-for-it" moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Times Olivia Stopped Stalling

_i. the wedding_

A part of you knows – this is  _wrong_. This thing you’re doing, right now, is  _just short_  of kidnapping and you’re pretty sure someone would call it holding her hostage.

But God strike you dead if you let her out of this small side room in that wedding dress without telling her.

You’re  _done_  with all of these half-lies and false starts and stop; with the longing stares and the longer nights; with the tears you just keep crying and the tissues you keep going through; done with Emma asking what’s wrong without giving her an answer.

Here’s what’s wrong: Natalia is going to marry Frank. In a matter of minutes.

And maybe this is a little late; maybe you’ve almost missed your chance. But here you are now, stepping up to the plate because the idea of her actually walking down that aisle without knowing how you really feel about her, it’s just too ludicrous a thought. It’s just getting too hard to breathe and too hard to lie and if you don’t tell her now…

“Olivia,” she says again, softly and confused. You trapped her here and you haven’t really said anything yet. “I need you to let me get out the door.”

Because you’re standing in front of it, blocking her only exit.

“I need you to listen to me,” you start gently, not really sure what to say. Except that’s wrong; you know exactly what to say. “I need you to just listen to me for a second, before you go out there and…” the words catch. “Before you marry him.”

She actually does stop – she was pacing – and stares at you, this new you who speaks softly and casts doe eyes in her direction. She waits and you breathe.

“I wanted you to know, before you go and get married, because once that happens, you know, there’s your entire life – gone. It’s a lifetime thing, marriage and…”

“Olivia, stop.”

“You said that you thought God might have someone else in mind for you, right? Someone else for you to love?” She nods and you try to smile, but you can feel it slide off your face before it really sticks. “What if, uh, what if…”

This is the point in the road you’ve been too before; the point you’ve always gotten to and shied away from.

“What if it’s me? What if  _I’m_  that someone else? What if  _I’m_  the one whose supposed to, to raise a family with you and, and come home to you after a long day and what if it’s me, whose supposed to wake up with you every morning and kiss you goodnight?”

Natalia blinks a couple of times and you can feel your heart slow to almost a complete stop.

“Olivia…”

But you’re already pushing off the doorjamb, wrapping her hands up in yours. “I just needed you to know. I couldn’t let you marry him without knowing that there’ll always be someone – there’ll always be  _me_  to love you.”

You leave her standing there with her mouth hanging open, and you take your place at the end of the long aisle of doom, waiting for her to do something.

You’ve done your part and you’re just going to have to wait.

_ii. the death_

“Olivia?”

Shapes and voices swim in and out of focus like the lights floating above your head.

“Mommy?”

“Mom!”

“Olivia? Olivia?”

This isn’t how it was supposed to go; there was a plan and a course of action and it never involved you on the floor, staring up at some big white light while people called out to you in panicked voices.

Emma was never supposed to see this.

“Olivia, come on,” someone –  _Gus_  – urges, hands and fingers digging into your shoulders.

You try to tell them to pick you up off the floor.

You try to tell them to get Emma out of here; to have Ava take Emma and run as far away from here as they can get.

You try to tell them that if Natalia Rivera puts a  _single_  hand on your daughter, you’ll kill her.

“Did you call 911?”

Somewhere, Phillip is laughing and Natalia is grinning and Frank – who still hates you a little, even if he feels bad that you’re dying (that you’re practically _dead_ ) – is sighing a sigh that doesn’t really mean anything. Somewhere, your mother is rolling over in her grave and Sam is stopping whatever it is he’s doing and he’s thinking something feels wrong. Somewhere, Mel is signing the dotted lines on your will and cementing your kids future.

And here, on the floor of  _your_  suite in  _your_  hotel, your heart is finally giving up on you.

Just as you were about to give up in  _it_ , it turns around and says,  _you know what? Screw you_.

“Olivia, don’t do this,” Natalia whispers harshly into your ear and you try to tell her to back the hell up. “Not to your daughters; not now.”

But the bright lights are starting to fade a little and you can feel your heavy eyelids sliding closed and those hands – hands that are decidedly  _not_  Gus’s are pulling you again until you’re propped up in Natalia’s lap and she’s pawing at your face, trying to keep your eyes open.

“Mommy.” Emma’s voice is so little and far away.

“Mommy?” And Ava sounds like someone just took away her safety blanket and told her to grow up.

You try to take a large gulp of air, but it never comes.

Natalia’s blurry face and her burning hands stick in the back of your mind.

_iii. the date_

“We say goodnight,” you say without thinking too much about it. Because she’s giving you this look like she wants  _you_  to be the one to leave, even if you’re standing at your door and not hers; this look that says  _please don’t put this in my hands_.

So you take it out of her hands.

“And I’m not sure if you’re aware of this goodnight tradition thing…” you trail off, suddenly nervous at her wide eyes and the slight paleness of her cheeks. “Hey, hey, we don’t have to do anything, alright? I’ll back away and say ‘see you in the morning’ and you’ll smile and say ‘you betcha Boss’ and we’ll call it a night, okay?”

If you sound like you’re panicking – you are.

“Hey, Natalia,” you beckon, when she still doesn’t really move. “Alright,” you decide.

 _Alright_.

Maybe it’s the spaghetti, but her mouth doesn’t  _taste_  the way you thought it would; it’s a little spicy instead of sweet, a little tart and tangy with the wine that mostly stayed in her glass. Or maybe it’s just that’s she’s not as perfect as you thought she was, not quite the sugary angel everyone claims she is.

It doesn’t matter, because she’s only freezing for a  _millisecond_  before she comes to life under you, her mouth forming around yours in a way that’s so fitting, you wonder how anyone else every kissed you before.

“Was that,” you start, then stop, gulping for air with your forehead pressed against hers. “Was that okay?”

And this is just  _ridiculous_ , because you’re Olivia Spencer and you’ve kissed too many people to count on both hands – and both feet – and this is just plain ole’ Natalia Rivera, patron Saint of  _everything_.

“Yeah,” she says shakily, her breath hitting your cheeks in a blast of warm air. “Yeah, that was perfect.” She pauses and stops and smiles up at you. “We’re going to be perfect.”

You shrug nonchalantly, like that one sentence doesn’t make your entire heart flutter in your chest.

“I guess so,” but you’re smiling so wide she laughs a little until you’re laughing too, into her hair.

“Sure,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“We could be,” you finish.


End file.
